Tuesday, December 26, 2017

Christmas 2017 was not what we expected. On Christmas Eve morning, Portland got hit with an ice storm.

Xmas morning

Romie was happy to have us together!

We were sad when our plans to attend our wonderful church and participate in its Jazz Christmas service were dashed. We found some brave Uber Eats driver to deliver Thai food to our door, watched "Home Alone" and "Elf," and hunkered down.

It still hasn't melted yet, but we've ventured out a few times. One of the highlights was to see "The Last Jedi" on Christmas Day. I loved this movie. NO SPOILERS HERE, I promise!

Contrary to the boys' club of the early Star Wars movies (and nearly every other action flick with the exception of "Wonder Woman" and the all-female "Ghostbusters"), nearly every scene had a woman in it. Many of them were women of color even! REPRESENTATION MATTERS! Apparently some little boys men have themselves all worked up about this and have tanked the Rotten Tomatoes audience as a result because they can't take the rebalancing of gender in this film. For example:

Even though Princess Leia was a badass, she was the only female lead in the first several films. As usual onscreen, she was surrounded by men. New York Magazine put together a montage of all the lines spoken by a woman other than Leia in the first trilogy. Those lines totaled one minute, 23 seconds, out of 386 minutes! As my wise husband said, "No wonder so many Star Wars nerds are men."

In "The Last Jedi," it's clear that women and intersectionality are the lifeforce of the resistance. We get my new favorite Star Wars character, Rose, who's a mechanically minded woman from a working-class background. We get women leading the resistance...and even some villainous females, one of which is a fierce fighter in one scene. We get women working together for the common good, and overruling and outsmarting a few mansplaining men who are ingrained with toxic masculinity, questioning women's decisions and leadership.

Mike and I both cried several times during this movie, because it so clearly represents what's going on in the world right now...the underdogs fighting the Evil Empire, the warmongers profiting at the expense of the marginalized, and the complete lack of morality among the ruling elite. The rebels in the Resistance are trying to create a better world for themselves and future generations. And then there's dear Carrie Fisher in her last appearance on screen. The film's poignant plot makes her role even more bittersweet.

As the Intercept says, "If 'The Last Jedi' has a political takeaway, it’s for political revolution and a bottom-up transformation of not just who’s in power, but who gets to decide how that revolution happens."

This was the year of the woman, as shown in this montage of feminist moments in 2017. We are so tired of getting less, getting groped and catcalled, and getting the brunt of things. We are rising, and we are no longer taking your mansplaining shit.

Women are coming into their own, standing up for justice and the marginalized, collectively gathering to resist, and finally reclaiming the word "feminist," and this is the movie and these are the heroes we need:

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Trigger warning: First of all, for all those women, men, and nonbinary folks out there who've been sexually assaulted, harassed, or abused, you are in my heart. This is a bit of a trigger-inducing rant, so bear with me.

Those who know me rarely see me depressed or feeling down. I'm a naturally cheerful, resilient, optimistic person. But this week I am feeling emotionally exhausted and depleted. As a 7 on the Enneagram ("the enthusiast"), depression can hit me, from out of nowhere, like a ton of bricks. I truly hate being depressed, and I'm eager to feel like myself again.

Here's what is wearing me down:

Women are posting photos of themselves with the hashtag #meat14 to show that a 14-year-old is not a consenting adult, in response to assholes who say it's okay for a grown adult to "date" a teenage girl ala Roy Moore. Rape apologists are actually defending a child molester, saying this is normal.

I'm damn glad that more people are coming forward to call out their abusers, but it is f*cking trauma inducing. The #metoo phenomenon, which I joined publicly last October, is affirming while at the same time being exhausting and tragic.

George Takei, Richard Dreyfuss, and Louis CK join the growing list of celebrities accused of sexual assault and harassment: Kevin Spacey, Harvey Weinstein, the U.S. Gymnastics doctor, Steven Seagal, George H.W. Bush, Bill O'Reilly, Woody Allen, Bill Cosby, ALFRED F*CKING HITCHCOCK!, and the list goes on. It's hard to stomach liberal favorite George Takei being part of the abuse problem, but the interview he gave on the Howard Stern show sealed my belief in his guilt. Hearing Stern and his co-host Robin Quivers laugh and joke about sexual assault made me sick to my stomach. First Takei claimed Russian bots were behind the allegation, and now he claims the statements he made on the show were part of his "naughty gay grandpa" shtick. Is that supposed to excuse his behavior? Really? Naughty gay grandpa? He's just made me feel sicker.

The week began with Republicans and the White House saying, "if it's true." Each time that statement is made, thousands more victims decide to keep silent, feeling shame and blame for the attack or abuse. We liberals too are guilty of "if it's true" or "it can't be true." Just take a look at all the support on George Takei's Facebook page, which still has over 10 million likes.

This week I'm listening to Janet Mock's great second memoir, Surprising Certainty, and she recounted a date rape, after which she told her then-boyfriend that she had "slept with someone" because of the shame she felt...and because women who are raped by someone they know are told they were asking for it.

Each time a survivor comes forward to tell the truth about someone in the public eye, they get shamed and disbelieved...especially if they are an athlete or a celebrity. Sports organizations are the worst. Did you know that 44 NFL players have been accused of rape or physical assault? Remember how long it took for people to believe Jerry Sandusky was a rapist and how some Penn State fans still defend him and his enabler Joe Paterno until the end?

The Atlantic published a powerful article yesterday about how liberals have given the first

sexual-predator-in-chief Bill Clinton a pass. Feminists, in particular, are guilty for excusing and enabling his behavior (see this article by Gloria Steinem). Rape culture at its finest, infecting even the ones who should be attacking it at its core. I've never been an avid supporter of Bill Clinton, but I've also realized I too have been complicit in not calling him out for his behavior.

We have a misogynist, perverted perpetrator in the White House--one that is far worse than Bill Clinton--and we who have been assaulted can never stop being reminded of the fact that people who voted for him either don't believe his accusers or perhaps worse, don't care about his vile behavior. Here's a list of women who have accused him of sexual assault, or what Wikipedia calls "unwanted physical contact." FFS. The godforsaken (truly) WHITE HOUSE is defending this creep, while trashing our country by forcibly trying to yank away the tenuous safety net, forsaking the poor, people of color, immigrants, people on low and middle incomes, and everyone else on the margins. Congress is trying to pass a tax plan (and repeal Obamacare) that will hurt or bankrupt millions while lining the pockets of the rich.

Gun violence. You know what I mean. Today there was another shooting in California, and my first response was "another one?" Nothing will ever change, because the NRA lines the pockets of people in power and rabid gun owners care more about their guns than actual human beings.

I looked at my sweet little fifth grader last night and wondered, what will this world be like when he becomes an adult? What kind of irreversible damage is being done with this dumb, corrupt, authoritarian, extremely dangerous, narcissistic sociopath sitting in the Oval Office...and even worse perhaps, Republicans in Congress enabling his horrible actions and excusing his words?

In the past week, we have at least some silver lining. Finally, the Republicans are pulling away from Roy Moore. Today, miracle of miracles, Paul Ryan announced that the Congress would undergo sexual harassment training. #itsabouttime But when will they actually believe the MANY WOMEN who have accused the Predator-in-Chief? How is he any different from Roy Moore, except for the fact that he targeted 19- and 20-year-olds? He's still a dirty old man.

Rebecca Solnit's brilliant essay, Let This Flood of Women's Stories Never Cease, affirms that perhaps this is the beginning of the end of not believing survivors. Maybe this drastic pulling off the bandage and exposing the bloody wound beneath the scab will make things better for survivors. Maybe people will start to realize how extremely rare it is for people to lie about these things (only 2 to 10 percent of accusations). I hope survivors keep telling their truths, even though it's incredibly traumatizing for them--and for other survivors like me.

"What would women’s lives be like, what would our roles and accomplishments be, what would our world be, without this terrible punishment that looms over our daily lives?" --Rebecca Solnit

But I will rise up.
Resilience is my new middle name and will be my next tattoo. I know this exhaustion and broken-down-and-tired feeling is temporary. You abusers, assaulters, rapists, and defenders of these villains will not win. Part of my healing is writing this all down. Thank you for listening.

Please join me in dismantling misogyny and rape culture by believing survivors and calling out enablers and accusers. Help stop rape culture now.

You're broken down and tired
Of living life on a merry go round
And you can't find the fighter
But I see it in you so we gonna walk it out
And move mountains
We gonna walk it out
And move mountains

And I'll rise up
I'll rise like the day
I'll rise up
I'll rise unafraid
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times again

When the silence isn't quiet
And it feels like it's getting hard to breathe
And I know you feel like dying
But I promise we'll take the world to its feet
And move mountains
We'll take it to its feet
And move mountains

And I'll rise up
I'll rise like the day
I'll rise up
I'll rise unafraid
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times again
For you

All we need, all we need is hope
And for that we have each other
And for that we have each other
We will rise
We will rise

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Brian Doyle was a prolific and gifted writer, editor,
philosopher, father and husband, friend, and prophet who expired from this
world far too soon.

The first time I met him was at the Wild Arts festival
when I bought one of his books for my dad, called Spirited Men: Story, Soul and
Substance. He struck me as a bit quirky and sarcastic, probably bored out of
his gourd in the book signing room while all the bird lovers seemed to be more
interested in the avian arts and crafts. I wasn't sure how I felt about
him...he left me a bit off balance.

The second time I met him was at the Search for Meaning book
festival in Seattle, after I heard him read from his book A Book of Uncommon
Prayer: 100 Celebrations of the Miracle & Muddle of the Ordinary, when he
had a packed lecture hall laughing until we peed our pants a little, wiping
away tears from our eyes, and singing Amazing Grace a capella in perfect
harmony. He wept freely as he recounted the friends he lost in the World Trade
Center on 9/11 and read his gorgeous tribute to those victims,
"Leap." In a culture that rabidly suppresses and insults male
vulnerability and emotion (with homophobia at its roots), BD (as his friends call him) did not fear going
deep and sensitive, regularly baring his soul raw to audiences far and wide,
both in his writing and his speaking. He felt, loved, and lived with a wonder
and a passion that was unparalleled and freely expressed. I loved the
experience and had to buy his book.

This entailed waiting in a long line that moved like hard
honey, because BD had a significant conversation with every person before he
signed their books. By the time I reached him, I had read several of the
poem-prayers, and I'd found the Prayer for Editors and Proofreaders. I told him
how much I liked it, and we fist bumped.

A few months later I decided I wanted to feature BD's
uncommon prayers in the April A to Z blog challenge. I emailed him to ask his
permission, and he responded by connecting me with his publicist, who gave
permission as long as I included a link to Broadway Books, BD's favorite local
bookstore. Of course, I obliged. And so I began a month of reading his poems
every day and writing about what they meant to me. You can access all those posts here.

“I’ll hear all laughter,” Doyle said. “Be tender to each other. Be more tender than you were yesterday, that’s what I would like. You want to help me? Be tender and laugh.”

That's what happened a few weeks ago, at the incredible celebration of his life. Packed into the First Congregational Church downtown, we and 700 of BD's closest friends, family, coworkers, and admirers paid tribute. Seventeen of his friends, including well-known Portland writers Kim Stafford, Robin Cody, and David James Duncan spoke for roughly 5 minutes each, telling hilarious anecdotes and touching stories about BD. Broadway Books sold Doyle's books in the back of the church. We laughed and we cried.

We were wowed by Seattle firefighter Jimmy Watts, who was clearly not a public speaker. He'd met Doyle through the shared experience of having a child with heart disease, a friendship I can relate to. He shared a letter he wrote to Doyle about the worn T-shirt he was sending him, offering him hope and courage in his last few months of illness. “You’ve always been a firefighter, Brian” he said.

Doyle's family

BD's brother shared an intimate email, in which Doyle exhorted his brother Peter to stop ragging on him for exaggeration and taking the opportunity to expand on truths, not always being entirely accurate. And author David James Duncan (The River Why, The Brothers K, etc.) went last. He spoke of his intimate, brotherly, loving friendship with Doyle, and I was struck and saddened by (1) his deep loss and (2) how rarely men speak of each other in such terms.

Mike and I had to work wonders to get there that evening, but I was so glad we made the effort. Afterwards, we went to the Fulton Pub (BD's favorite watering hole) with our dear friends Catherine and Brad to toast this amazing man and prophet. They drank some Jameson's whisky in his honor. It felt right and proper to honor Brian Doyle with good food and drink and sacred friendship. This literary, holy evening made me realize I need to read Brian Doyle regularly as a spiritual practice. His writing resonates deeply in my soul.

And I leave you with this: his "Last Prayer," which he published just a few years before he died, in his Book of Uncommon Prayer:

Dear Coherent Mercy: thanks. Best life ever.

Personally I never thought a cool woman would come close to understanding me, let along understanding me but liking me anyway, but that happened!

And You and I both remember that doctor in Boston saying polite but businesslike that we would not have children but then came three children fast and furious!
And no man ever had better friends, and no man ever had a happier childhood and wilder brothers and a sweeter sister, and I was that rare guy who not only loved but liked his parents and loved sitting and drinking tea and listening to them!

And You let me write some books that weren't half bad, and I got to have a career that actually no kidding helped some kids wake up to their best selves, and no one ever laughed more at the ocean of hilarious things in this world, or gaped more in astonishment at the wealth of miracles everywhere every moment.

I could complain a little right here about the long years of back pain and the occasional awful heartbreak, but Lord, those things were infinitesimal against the slather of gifts You gave mere me, a muddle of a man, so often selfish and small.

But no man was ever more grateful for Your profligate generosity, and here at the very end, here in my last lines, I close my eyes and weep with joy that I was alive, and blessed beyond measure, and might well be headed back home to the incomprehensible Love from which I came, mewling, many years ago.

But hey, listen, can I ask one last favor? If I am sent back for another life, can I meet my lovely bride again? In whatever form? Could we be hawks, or otters maybe? And can we have the same kids again if possible?

And if I get one friend again, can I have my buddy Pete? He was a huge guy in this life--make him the biggest otter ever, and I'll know him right away, okay? Thanks, Boss.

Thanks from the bottom of my heart. See You soon.
Remember--otters. Otters rule. And so: amen.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Here's one of the many things I learned on the morning of August 23, 1996, 21 years ago today:

If you are in the medical field, never gasp when you are examining a patient.

That's what Lynn, the labor & delivery nurse, did when my obstetrician suggested she look at my cervix again. I'd already told Lynn that I'd felt the umbilical cord come down when I was taking a shower. Lynn told me this was unlikely before examining me and then pronouncing me fine.

When Dr. Weaver arrived, she was grave. After she confirmed the umbilical cord had indeed prolapsed, my water had broken, and the baby was in a breech position, she told us she was sorry because it was too early. She would not be able to save our baby. Lynn turned away in tears. They both left us alone to grieve the impending death of the child we'd been waiting for.

In Alaska, 23 weeks pregnant

Back in 1996, obstetricians didn't know as much about premature labor--or at least they didn't educate their patients as well. I'd had near-constant bleeding throughout my pregnancy, and I'd been monitored closely, but I'd never been warned about the signs of premature labor.

Now I know I'd been in premature labor the previous few days. The week before I'd taken a business trip to Alaska and I just didn't feel right. On the evening of August 21, I began having painful stomach cramps...but we thought it was constipation. Mike plied me with prunes. I was actually due to fly to Seattle for a management meeting on August 22, but I had to cancel after waking up at 5:30 a.m. to get ready and then doubling over in pain.

During the day the pain lessened, but it increased again in the evening. I lay awake all night with severe cramps—sharp, shooting pains, like stiletto heels gouging me in the pit of my stomach. I suffered in silence, though, not wanting to wake up Mike. I prayed that my stomach ailment would pass and I’d feel better. How could I have known I was in premature labor? I was barely 24 weeks along.

A few minutes later, Dr. Weaver returned to our hospital room with a tiny bit of hope. She'd called a neonatologist at Legacy Emanuel, who informed her that 24-weekers now had a 50 percent chance of survival. So she gave us a choice: we could have a radical c-section and the baby might live...but all my future births would have to be by c-section. Or I could deliver the baby naturally, and he would die. He was already at severe risk for oxygen deprivation with the prolapsed cord...not to mention countless other risks I wouldn't learn about until later. (We were told after his birth that he had a 50 percent chance of major disabilities if he did survive.)

Before even asking Mike, I told Dr. Weaver I'd take the c-section. Fortunately, we agreed on one thing: our Christopher Hugh was meant to be born. I thought to myself, "No matter what happens, we're going to will this baby to survive." And so he did, thanks to a huge deal of prayers, excellent medical care, his tremendous will to live and thrive, and an enormous dosage of luck.

At the warming bed when Chris was a few weeks old

That morning was the beginning of a four-month stay in the NICU, the most difficult weeks of our lives. Because we spent countless hours staring at Christopher's numbers on the monitor, what better way to summarize the NICU stay than do it in numbers:

1 pound 6 ounces and 11 inches long1 terrifying bout of cerebral edema/low flow to the brain and 1 damaged kidney1 slip of paper that said "NORMAL HEAD GETTEL"--the ultrasound report the day after the brain injury, when we'd been told Chris would probably be a vegetable

Tiny little thing

1 dose of septic shock, at 5 weeks old2 lungs affected by chronic lung disease2 eyes afflicted with retinopathy of prematurity2.84 pounds at 10 weeks old3 surgeries, the first one when Chris was just 19 days old and weighed less than 2 pounds
At least 3 life-threatening crises when we were urgently called to the NICU from home because it looked like Chris would die4 nights I spent in the hospital before having to leave my precious baby behind in the NICU

Off the vent at last

(AWFUL!!)4 weeks he was the sickest, smallest baby in the unit (until two more 24-weekers arrived)6 weeks on the ventilator before moving to c-pap10 weeks in Level 3, the most intensive care part of the unit10 (?) excruciating eye exams17 mylar balloons and handmade signs, one for each week he was there

At least 20 times nurses or doctors infuriated me for various reasons!

28 days on a warming bed before he was stable enough for an isolette

Holding Chris for the first time

33 days until we got to hold Chris for the first time (34 days for Mike--we had to alternate days at first)!!!

100 times our nurses did something truly touching or that kept us sane

117 days and nights in the NICU (he came home on December 21, the happiest and most terrifying day of our lives!)

(180 months until Legacy opened a new NICU with private rooms for families, in 2012)

234nurse shifts and 234 shift changes during which we had to wait in the waiting room351 visits to the pumping room
(1095 days until he began talking at age 3)

I've written many times in this blog about our NICU journey and Chris' progress through the years, and one of these days we will finish our book. The first few years were full of joy and challenges, as we saw the developmental delays that result from being cut out of your mother's womb 16 weeks early. But even though he came home on oxygen, a couple of machines and monitors, and several medications (he was totally high tech!), and even though he got reflux and was projectile vomiting all over us several times a day...he was always an easy-going, lovely child. Many preemies have a very difficult time adapting when they go home from the hospital, but not Chris. He was just so happy to be with us all the time.

Chris truly is our miracle boy, now man! He has lived out "Everything Possible," one of the songs we sang to him daily in the NICU. In fact, he loves music more than almost anyone I know--probably the result of our constant singing to him in the NICU.

He's entering his junior year at Pacific Lutheran University, majoring in theater with minors in communications and politics. He is one of the kindest, most forgiving, enthusiastic people I know. He does not have a mean bone in his body. College has been a great adventure, and I've been delighted to see him get interested in politics and social justice. No matter what he does with his life, I have no doubt he will continue to inspire people.

Chris' birth and survival inspired this blog, Every Day Is a Miracle, based on the quotation by Einstein. He will always be my hero...not just for surviving the odds, but also for living his life to the fullest and appreciating the wonders of the world.

Saturday, May 13, 2017

On the eve of Mother's Day, I am acutely aware of my own mothering privilege.

With my mom and sister
before the women's march

I am exceedingly fortunate to have a supportive, loving, amazing mom who loved me even before I was born and whose love has never diminished in these 52 years. And I'm also very lucky to have three great kids who love me and tell me so every day!

One Mother's Day many years ago, a friend spoke truth at our church, where we have a tradition of hearing from mothers or children on that holiday, and bravely told us about how she disliked Mother's Day because of her own difficult relationship with her mother. It was raw, honest, authentic, and real. So many of my friends are in this situation. It was a great reminder that this day is not all roses and Hallmark cards.

Summer after my first
Mother's Day

I've had my own share of hard Mother's Days. Like my first Mother's Day, when we finally took our fragile 24-weeker out in public to church. We'd waited until winter had passed and he was less susceptible to catching respiratory synctitial virus, which could kill him. We were so happy to introduce him to our church friends. But I remember the brunch at my parents' house, when I was trying to get him to eat. I was in tears, and he was in tears. He suffered from reflux, so eating was probably painful and uncomfortable with him. But I felt intense pressure to pack calories into him. I was deathly afraid that he would be labeled "failure to thrive." Not the best memories from my first Mother's Day! And then there were more difficult Mother's Days during my season of losses through miscarriage, when I wondered if I'd ever be able to carry a child to term.

Ever since infertility and coming to know parents who'd lost children--and also knowing many close friends have difficult relationships with their moms--I've become sensitized to the complexity of Mother's Day. So here's to all the people who will not be sending or receiving happy Hallmark cards on this holiday:

Mothers whose children have died, in utero or after birth

Children whose mothers have hurt them verbally or physically

Mothers who rarely hear from their children or feel disconnected from them

Mothers who've lost children for other reasons--estrangement, drug use, or other reasons

Children who have lost their mothers through death or estrangement

Women who have never been able to have children

Mothers with babies in the NICU or PICU

Moms whose children are ill or dying

Moms like my friend Katie who have answered the call of being a foster mom

People whose moms have died, especially in the past year

Moms who are terminally ill and know they will not be able to see their children reach certain milestones

Mothers who worry about their children, especially those who are affected by drug use, depression and anxiety, or mental illness

Women who were sexually abused by family members and their moms did not believe them or worse, blamed them

Mothers in prison who are unable to care for their children (and cheers to Black Lives Matter for raising money for women in prison to be able to pay their bail!)

You are loved, you are valued, you are worthy. I am holding you all in my heart as you endure this difficult day.

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Jimmy Kimmel redeemed himself after that awful hosting gig at the 2017 Oscars, where he made fun of people's names (all people of color) and thought it would be funny to lift up Sunny Pawar, star of "The Lion" like he was in "The Lion King." Last night he gave the monologue of his life, the most tender and sweet one I've seen on late-night television (video at the bottom).

Last week his wife gave birth to a baby boy, William (Billy). Three hours after Billy's birth, a nurse noticed that he had a heart murmur and was slightly purple. She quickly sprung into action and soon they discovered that he had a heart defect. Kimmel recalled how the room soon filled up with people, all trying to figure out what was going on with Billy. (And boy can I ever relate to that!) He had to have the first of what will be several surgeries to repair a valve in his heart.

As Kimmel is telling this story, he tears up not once, not twice, but several times, which of course makes me tear up too. Because it takes me back to the NICU and the terror of not knowing if your precious baby will live or die. And I'm sure my wonderful husband can relate to this: "It's a terrifying thing," Kimmel said. "You know, my wife is back in the recovery room, she has no idea what's going on and I'm standing in the middle of a lot of worried looking people--kind of like right now--who were trying to figure out what the problem is."

My own very sick, 1-pound-six-ounce baby
(covered in Aquafor because of his fragile skin)

He cried again when he thanked all the people who surrounded his family with love and care...again, something I could relate to so well. Never have I felt so loved than when our first son Chris was in the NICU for 117 days back in 1996. We didn't have to cook for ourselves that entire time because of the meal train. We had enough flowers to open a florist shop. And we learned quickly who our truest friends were...they were the ones who surrounded us with hopeful messages, prayers, and constant caring.

And what's most beautiful about Kimmel's story is that he understands the privilege he has...of being a celebrity and receiving the best medical care possible for his son. And he outs that privilege by advocating for health care for all. We also were very lucky. Through my private medical insurance, Chris' NICU and followup costs were covered. In fact, we only had to pay $200 for an apnea monitor. Now we'd have to bear a lot more for out-of-pocket costs and premiums, but in the 1990s my medical coverage had only $200/year premium. I can't imagine how much NICU care costs nowadays!

He called out Trump's proposed $6 billion cut to the National Institutes of Health budget, and praised Congress for deciding "to not go along with that." (Even though this could very well change in the next budget.) "They actually increased funding by $2 billion and I applaud them for doing that," Kimmel said.

Kimmel also praised the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) because our medically fragile babies are born with "pre-existing conditions." Under the Republican plan, they could be turned down for health insurance.

He urged Americans to hold elected officials accountable for their decisions on health care: "If your baby is going to die and it doesn't have to, it shouldn't matter how much money you make," he said. "I think that's something that whether you're a Republican or a Democrat or something else, we all agree on that, right?"

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

I'm staying up late tonight, prepping for a procedure tomorrow morning. Those of you middle-agers know what I'm talking about. While I drink lots of fluids, I'm catching up on some TV, like one of my favorite shows, Madam Secretary. If you've never seen it, I highly recommend it! Tea Leoni and Tim Daly, a real-life couple, are the sexiest married 50+ couple on television.

The last episode was serious, addressing slut shaming and male complicity as well as human trafficking. After the secretary's team had a failed mission resulting in trafficked girls dying during a rescue attempt, combined with budget cuts to humanitarian efforts combined with increased defense spending (sound familiar?) one of Secretary McCoy's staff read an excerpt of this poem, "Good Bones" by Maggie Smith, who wrote it last year after the Pulse shooting.

PRI's the World named it as the official poem of 2016. I love it, and I find it perfect for this time in our world. I hope you like it too.

Good Bones

By Maggie Smith

Life is short,

though I keep this from my children.

Life is short,

and I’ve shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways

I’ll keep from my children.

The world is at least

fifty percent terrible,

and that’s a conservative estimate,

though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child,

a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake.

Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible,

and for every kind stranger,

there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children.

I am trying to sell them the world.

Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole,

chirps on about good bones:

This place could be beautiful, right?

You could make this place beautiful.

Smith told The Washington Post, “I’m happy for the poem but not the circumstances of its popularity,” she says. “I wish I had written a poem that people share when babies are born or people get married.”

But she doesn't believe the poem is pessimistic. “I don’t think I could write a poem that the world is beyond repair,” she says. Even if the world may seem at times like a dilapidated house that only a fool would buy, it still “has good bones,” Smith says. “My hope is that the poem is a call to improve it anyway.”

My prayer is that our good bones sustain us and keep us strong through the hurricane to come.

Saturday, April 15, 2017

I have reached the final day of my Lenten Challenge--woo hoo! As I was pondering which marginalized voice I should focus on today, I knew I wanted it to be someone I know. And then it occurred to me: of course, my friend Leo!

I've known Leo for several years, back to when he went by the name of Laura. We met through an interchurch Bible study called "Bras, Bibles, and Brew." Laura was one of many in the group who'd attended seminary, which resulted in me feeling less than Biblically literate at times! Immediately, I found Laura to be a fascinating, funny, and bright person, and we became Facebook friends.

Laura got involved with the Cascade AIDS project and became a hugely successful and creative fundraiser and activist. I remember her kissing a chicken while wearing a fun maroon dress and boots, because she'd met her fundraising goals. (I found the photo on Facebook--it's on the right!). And she began a blog called "Just one of the boys...kinda," sharing her perspectives on LGBTQIA issues and the church, along with other spiritual reflections. I followed her blog regularly and occasionally we would cross paths in our Lutheran world.

At the end of March, I had the startling, frightening, and liberating realization that I just might be transgender. That was the beginning of a journey of questioning that has brought me to this place now – where I want to share more publicly about who I am.

I now identify as transgender: more male than female, one of the guys, in my men’s clothes and men’s haircut. Over the years, there were several clues I gave myself before my moment of realization, even the title of this blog.

Please feel free to ask me any question that you like. I can’t speak for the whole transgender community, just as I can’t speak for all Lutherans or all Oregonians. I’m on a journey where I am still figuring out who I am, so there is a lot I am learning too. But I don’t want to do so in private any more.

Leo with his mom

Ever since that first reveal blog post, Leo has chronicled his spiritual and mental journey of becoming, regularly speaking and writing about his transgender experience in churches, synod gatherings, and conferences. In his followup post, he shared:

Life is not about knowing all the answers, or about finding out the end of the movie before it begins. I want to view life as an adventure! Thankfully this is not something we have to do alone. Many of you have expressed your willingness to come along on this adventure with me, even when it is mysterious or scary, and I do not take that for granted. I hope I am willing to go beside you in your adventure too.

And because this is a devotional blog at heart, I want to add that God is also always with us in this. No matter how dark or confusing life may seem, you are never alone. Sometimes that's hard to remember - I had it tattooed on my arm so I wouldn't forget. I am working on being ok with not knowing how things will turn out; I am working on trusting that God is always with me on this journey. No matter how dark or confusing life may seem, you are never alone. Sometimes that's hard to remember - I had it tattooed on my arm so I wouldn't forget. I am working on being ok with not knowing how things will turn out; I am working on trusting that God is always with me on this journey, no matter what.

Leo's come to preach at our church many times, like in early 2015 (read his homily here). He also spoke at our panel on the transgender experience with Jayce M., the student who filed a complaint against George Fox University for housing discrimination. Leo is a born storyteller and gifted preacher and bridge builder. I've learned so much about the transgender experience through his open heart and willingness to share his story.

In 2016 the Lutheran church in Oregon hired Leo to be an advocate for the LGBTQIA community, to listen to people’s stories and hear their experiences. And he has started a church in his living room, The Flame, which meets Sunday evenings at 6 p.m. He's on his way to becoming a pastor again, several years after being in seminary. (And he's still continuing his day job in IT support.)

I imagine that Leo is constantly traversing his two communities: one of faith and the LGBTQIA community, including many who mistrust or have been gravely hurt by the church. Leo bridges these two skillfully, facilitating communities of faith to walk in the AIDS Walk or Pride parades, and constantly sharing his own story of faith and becoming. I know his journey has not been easy, and he has not always been accepted and loved as he should be.

Oh yeah. And he's taken up trapeze! Look at those muscles!

Leo describes himself on his blog as a goofball who loves trapeze, a bisexual trans guy (just one part of his identity). And he is visible for those who can't be.

I can't think of a better person to profile on this final day of my Lenten journey, a hero advocating for true authenticity and a fuller understanding of transgender people for all, a role model, and someone who walks his talk and roars his roar for others who can't do so.

Friday, April 14, 2017

In my second-to-last Lenten post, I have a special story to share with you. The other evening I attended a women's activist meeting, where we were led to think about a critical story in our lives, how it contributed to our passion, and where it is leading us to use our energies now.

As I revealed to readers back in October, I was sexually assaulted as an adolescent, and I still bear the scars. I shared this information in my small group on Monday night, along with the epiphany that as a result, throughout my life I've been drawn to the company of women...and this assault was just one of my many life experiences (including childhood birth defects and multiple surgeries, bullying in junior high, travel abroad, and my recent health issues) that contribute to the theme in my life:

RESILIENCE

In fact, I think this would make a fine tattoo for my 55th birthday, don't you agree?

A woman in my small group suggested that perhaps my calling to activism should be connected to women, and in in fact it is already headed that way. And another woman in the group told me about Brenda Tracy.

In 1998, single mom Brenda Tracy was drugged and gang raped by four men, two of which played on the Oregon State University football team.* She reported the attack, but the district attorney never prosecuted the case. She endured death threats and backlash from a community that should have helped her. And the OSU football coach at the time, Mike Riley, defended his players in a newspaper, "These are really good guys who made a bad choice." As Tracy recalls, it felt like a branding iron searing through her flesh to her soul, a scar she would carry forever. Read her story here in the Oregonian.

Even though all of the accused admitted to some part in the gang rape, Tracy did not end up pressing charges...because she'd been victimized before, her boyfriend played on the OSU team, and she felt ashamed (rape culture). After the rape, she strongly considered suicide until the ER nurse, Jenenne Aguilar, who took care of her after the rape, inspired her to pursue a career in nursing. That fall, instead of killing herself, she entered nursing school and eventually also got her MBA.

Over the years she came to hate Mike Riley more than her rapist because she felt betrayed. In 2014, Tracy publicly came forward sharing her story, and releasing the shame she'd felt inside this whole time. Since then, Tracy has bravely met with Riley (who publicly apologized to her), spoke to his team in Nebraska, and built a strong relationship with him. (He recently nominated her for the Arthur Ashe Courage Award.) Just this week Tracy returned to Nebraska and led an End Rape on Campus march.

When I began researching Tracy's case, I found this video interview with Tracy and her college athlete son, Darius Adams:

And then I found this letter by Darius, who is working to prevent NCAA from recruiting and allowing sexual offenders to play in college sports, and that's what made me cry. When he was headed down a troubled path at age 17 (in 2010), his mom shared the story of her rape with him for the first time, and it inspired him to turn his life around.

For so long, I too kept my story quiet and hidden, except from close friends and family. But when I decided to go public in my blog last October (inspired by Michelle Obama's speech after the Orange Monstrosity's sexual harassment history surfaced), I felt I needed to share my story with my two oldest sons in case they read it on my blog. With my voice shaking, I told them what happened to me and emphasized the importance of consent in their own relationships with women.

No woman should have to endure such humiliation and violence, much less have to tell her children about it. I'm grateful for people like Brenda Tracy and her son Darius for speaking out so vocally about what happened and working to mitigate rape culture in sports, college environments, and elsewhere. Now if we could just get it out of the White House!

*In 2014, OSU re-investigated the case, publicly apologized to Tracy, and began an extensive effort to expand and improve its programs to prevent sexual violence and serve survivors of sexual assault. OSU’s ambitious initiative was recently recognized by national media as one of the most progressive in the nation. The university extended the OSU Student Conduct Code to behavior that occurs off-campus. It joined the national “It’s On US” campaign, and launched the Alcohol, Drug and Violence Prevention Center. OSU now requires online courses to combat alcohol abuse and sexual assault, requires all incoming students to take a sexual violence prevention course, and has opened the OSU Survivor Advocacy and Resource Center. Tracy spoke at the opening of that center, which will provide confidential services for sexual assault survivors, help them navigate campus and community programs, and provide access as needed to sexual assault nurses.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Did you know that approximately 1.7 percent of babies are born with atypical genitalia? And many others are born with subtler forms of sex anatomy variations, some of which won’t show up until later in life. That means that more babies are born with intersex characteristics than cystic fibrosis, Jewish, or red hair. “Intersex” is a general term used for a variety of conditions in which a person is born with a reproductive or sexual anatomy that doesn't seem to fit the typical definitions of female or male. Intersex is the "I" in LGBTQIA. But many people are unaware that intersexed people exist.

The first time I became aware of this issue, beyond reading about the marginalized Hijras (third sex) in India, was when a friend's sister's baby was born without specific male or female genitalia in the 1990s. Historically and still in this day and age, doctors have advised parents of intersexed babies to choose a gender and elect gender reassignment surgery for the baby. But of course, choosing a gender randomly often results in gender dysphoria later on if the parents choose incorrectly. Now as more doctors learn about intersex, and more of the public become aware, more wise parents are waiting to allow the child to discover their own gender identity (as my friend's sister decided to do). Often people do not find out they are intersex until they are children, and many are encouraged to have gender assignment surgery without being given the option of waiting or declining the surgery.

Jonathan Leggette, from Seattle, WA, defines himself as black, queer, and intersex, using the pronouns he/him/his. He attends Evergreen State College in Washington and has become an advocate for intersex rights and awareness. In Jonathan's words, from an interview he gave to the college's Cooper Point Journal:

I am an InterAct Youth Member. InterAct Youth is a group of intersex advocates in their teens and twenties working to raise intersex awareness and create change...The organization allows for youth to get together and discuss topics ranging from intersex rights to everyday experiences.

This experience was truly life changing and empowering for me to become a more outward intersex advocate and truly started to accept the intersex piece of my identity. I finally found a group of people that understand pieces of my story without me having to explain myself every sentence.

When asked what he would like the general population to understand about what it means to be intersex, he responded:

"Being intersex and trans happens, yet they are not synonyms for each other! Being trans is a gender identity and intersex has to do with biological sex.

...The most basic question is what is intersex. And that is something I am always willing to define. For example a good definition...is that intersex people are born with sex characteristics (including genitals, gonads, and chromosome patterns) that do not fit typical binary notions of male or female bodies. Intersex is an umbrella term used to describe a wide range of natural bodily variations.

There is just no visibility around the intersex topic at all. It is crazy even many people in the LGBTQIA community don’t know what the definition of intersex is or how frequent it is."

In 2016, Buzzfeed announced results of a comprehensive survey conducted with intersex Australians, which found high rates of suicide and poverty, along with a lack of information around invasive surgeries intended to “fix” ambiguous sex characteristics. Nineteen percent of the survey respondents said they'd considered suicide, and they have a much higher likelihood of dropping out of school. The survey also found that peer support is critical.

That's why what Jonathan is doing is so critical. Not only is he seeking and receiving peer support from his community, but he is also being an inspiration and lifeline for others. Let's educate ourselves about what intersex people face, battle the stigmas, and celebrate their resiliency and uniqueness. Follow Jonathan on Twitter @johnny_boy24.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Here I am with my friend Roy, who I ran into on the streets of Victoria BC last summer. Serendipity (defined as "luck that takes the form of finding valuable or pleasant things that are not looked for)! Roy used to work with me until he retired in 2015. I still haven't quite recovered from his departure as he has left a hole in my work life. He was my creative hive mind in one. Any time I needed out-of-the-box brainstorming ideas, Roy would be the first one I'd call. I wrote about my history with Roy back when he retired in 2015. I think of him as my Zen Catholic friend.

Today I wanted to feature Roy because he is a naturalized immigrant from the Philippines, so his home country and his adopted country are both in turmoil right now. I remember speaking to Roy before the election in the Philippines and hearing his fear about the potential election of the brutal Duterte. At the time neither of us thought that Trump would be elected. Sadly, both countries find themselves in a scary mess for different reasons.

Roy has been chronicling his thoughts and feelings in art for many years, and a few years ago he began sharing his painted vignettes from visits to Starbucks on Facebook. Many of these paintings were accompanied by beautiful words as well, like this one:

Starbucks DEEP POCKETThe boy raised his arms looking at mom. Mom obliged and carried him on her hip. Then the boy stuck his hand into his mom's hood as if he's reaching for and looking for something."The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness."~Honoré de BalzacIt doesn't have to be Mother's Day to give thanks to our mothers and all the mothers we meet.

Or this one:

Starbucks People -THE LOOK BACKHe was sitting in the comfy chair by the entrance since I came in. After about 5 minutes of me waiting for a sketch subject, he stood up and walked to order a drink. In line, he looked back to his seat to check that no one takes it.No one did because he left his jacket on the chair.Looking back at my day today,What was pleasant?Who can I thank for it?What was unpleasant?What did I learn about myself from that event?

Since the election, Roy has particularly focused his painting and sketching on those in the margins, like refugees and immigrants. He is a man of pure hospitality and kindness and makes friends wherever he goes.

Lent 2017At the Religious Ed Congress in Anaheim, CA, a friend introduced me to this young, petite Philipina liturgical dancer from New York. She danced with my friend during one of the masses. She was bummed that day 'cause she lost her driver's license. Her passport though was being FedEx'd by mom so she can fly back home.Back home, she works in the financial sector, but dreams ofleaving that 9-to-5er to just dance and do what she loves the most. Hearing and seeing her exuberance and determination, she'll get there sooner.She's the daughter of immigrants from the Philippines."Today I have set before youLife and death,Blessing and curse.Choose life."~ God to Moses

Sometimes his sketches or portraits are of famous images or people:

As I drew this from a photo by the WPA photographer Dorothea Lange during the depression in 1938, I felt the hot Texas sun on this lady's skin and bones in her tattered dress and pained expression. I felt the suffering, the injustice, the violence of the widening divide between the haves and the have nots.Sketching can be a powerful tool for meditation on compassion and lovingkindness."If a free society cannot help the many who are poor,it cannot save the few who are rich."~ John F. KennedyMay we help in anyway we can. Like the panhandler's sign says: Anything helps.

Evening Drawing-Meditation:"This is YOUR beloved child -With whom I am well pleased.Listen to them."(Reference photo from http://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-37116349showing 5-yr old Omran Daqneesh after he was rescued from a destroyed building after an air strike in Aleppo.)

And other times they are just people he sees on his journey:

As soon as I saw this South Asian mother and child crossing the Bothell Bridge, it reminded me of migrants and refugees trying to get to a bridge leading to freedom from political persecution, from violence, hunger and poverty, due to their government's corruption and war. And on the domestic front, those who are looking for affordable health and dental care, employment, affordable housing, or compassionate and safe space for the night."When the alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself,for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God." ~ LeviticusMay every being's night be relaxing and sleep restorative.

Roy is taking a Facebook break during Holy Week, but I'm sure he's still sketching and painting! He has garnered a strong following on his Facebook page. as many of us are inspired by his art and words. We should all be this productive, compassionate, and loving in retirement!

I feel extremely fortunate to know this compassionate and loving artist and writer. Roy, in his own image and words:

"What is this precious love and laughterBudding in our hearts?It is the glorious soundOf a soul waking up!"- from 'I Heard God Laughing: Renderings of Hafiz' by Daniel Ladinsky.That's me practicing the throw-the-head-back laughter. It tones the neck and hopefully firms the double chin. It's also the counterpose to text-neck. And you feel silly good as heck.